Once Bitten
by WhisperWeeper
Summary: France expected another normal day. He expected his annual trip to Venice with Austria to go perfectly as planned. He expected his friend-not-friend to be his usual, elegant, sonorous self. France expected a lot of things, yet nothing could have prepared him for being faced with a quiet, horrid plea. AusFra/AusSwiss, Austria Is Not Nice, France Is Too Nice, More Warnings Inside


**_WARNINGS:_**

**_Lots_ of vulgar language and sexual warnings, ahoy! Swearing, mature language and descriptions used, and dub-con; so if any of that bothers you then maybe give this a pass. There will be a name switch as the content becomes more personal, going from nation titles in the first part to human names for the rest of the story. Just a warning!**

**France POV. Set sometime in the 80's (I think?). Translations at the bottom. Enjoy! :)**

**...xXx...**

France expected another normal day.

The Frenchman's morning routine was crucially important to him. Wake up, make himself some coffee, cook a delicious breakfast, and sit quietly in his den to read the morning newspaper. Just like always.

The rest of the day he could be as spontaneous as he wanted to be—but not before he had a good amount of caffeine in his system and a hot meal.

After he'd had both, the blond would spend the next hour or so relaxing with a full belly as he perused the daily newspaper.

His preferred paper being the _Murmures de Monde,_ a mix of news and saucy gossips tags from all over the world.

On this morning, however, France had gotten up slightly earlier than he normally would. He had a flight to catch around_ ten o'clock_ and wanted to have enough time for his usual routine without having to worry about running late.

Lord knows, Austria would scold him if he were late.

France expected his annual trip to Venice with Austria to go perfectly as planned. They would meet up in St. Mark's Square, tour the Basilica, find somewhere to eat, head for the Rialto, and walk along the canal until dusk. Then they'd go back to their hotel rooms, sleep, and start again the next day on a new trek around the city, maybe bumping into Italy if he had the time—the Italian _usually_ made time for them, anyways. Just like every year.

He'd spent a bit longer that morning on making a hearty breakfast to last him through his travels, so he didn't have as long as normal to read the news.

France lifted his legs up on the soft cushions of his chaise lounge, leaning his right elbow on the backrest and propping up his head. In his left hand he held his refilled mug of coffee, taking a few sips of the steaming liquid as he stretched out. Leaning forward just so, the blond man set the mug down on a coaster beside his empty plate and picked up the morning paper.

Thumbing open the folded papers, the man started with the headline of the day.

**AUSTRIA AND SWITZERLAND: TORN APART!**

France dropped the written punch-to-the-gut in shock, fumbling as he rushed to catch the papers before they hit the ground. He instantly sat up more, leaning forward as he read and re-read the appalling sentence. He skimmed the header and started the article.

**x**

**"Dear Neighbor: It's Not Me, It's You."**

_Today the political atmosphere of central Europe has turned into a perfect storm of heartbreak and betrayal fit for the romance advice column! After centuries of close-ties and relations, it seems the stoic Republic of Austria and the placid Swiss Confederation have had quite the falling out._

_As you might have heard, the last few months have been pretty tense between the two Germanic powers. Many disagreements between the Austrian Chancellor and Swiss President seem to have been building to this moment, with the respective leaders finally deciding enough was enough. Both countries' politics and cultures are closely intertwined with one another, despite their autonomous nature, and have been for years, but the relational climate between the Alpine nations has been palpably crude as of late. _

_A joint signing occurred this past Thursday afternoon agreeing to cut ties and sever more permanently from one another, the Austrian Federal Government mostly pushing for complete separation. Aside from the necessary foreign stipulations, the Republic and Confederation both agreed not to associate with one another on domestic affairs any longer._

_"A break is in order," the Austrian Chancellor recounts to our reporter in an exclusive interview Thursday evening, just after the signing. "It's obvious now that it's impossible to work together like our unions have in the past, and it's time we parted ways for the better. It's just a shame it took us so long to realize this fact."_

_After asking the Swiss President about the Chancellor's words, all that was said was, "We're glad this ordeal is over."_

_The national leaders expressed relief. "Like ripping off a bandage," both had said when comparing their feelings over the conclusion of the signing. They had said it on different occasions, not within earshot of each other, to our reporter. _

_It seems to be, readers, that it will still take some time for these nations to truly distance themselves from one another._

**Continued on page 4 . . .**

**x**

France slowly lowered the paper to rest on his knees, staring blankly at the edge of the coffee table.

Oh. Oh _no._

The announcement was simultaneously surprising and not surprising at all. No one living anywhere in Europe at the moment would be blind to the animosity between the Swiss and Austrian governments, even if the general populace of each country didn't seem directly affected by the spatting back and forth.

The other nations had taken the brunt of the dispute; having to deal with the _frigid_ air between Austria and Switzerland at meetings. Both men refused to speak to each other unless absolutely necessary, which was very strange in itself. Then, whenever they did have to converse, any topic would devolve into a violent argument. Yelling, hand waving, cursing—it was honestly on par with one of his and England's bouts, if with even more heat.

That wasn't why the little worm of dread was inching its way up the back of his throat.

France set aside the newspaper, bringing his hands together in front of him and exhaling, slowly.

_Austria._

No.

_Roderich._

Head falling forward to rest on his clasped hands, France attempted to jump start his thoughts. To get his mind whirling over a game plan. To pull away from the sole repetition of, _Oh, dear. Fuck. Dieu, no. Just . . . fuck._

The problem had begun months ago, soon after the new Austrian Chancellor had been appointed. The man seemed intent on going after Switzerland with the single-minded focus of a predator. It started with a few ostensibly apathetic jabs thrown at the nation and its leader, odd considering most Austrian nationals would sing praise to their kind Swiss brothers and sisters. Then the blasé insults escalated into full accusations of incompetence and senselessness, taking the public completely by surprise, and, of course, the Swiss government.

Cut to Austria trying to lessen his boss' words during get-togethers.

France could remember the first meeting after the Chancellor's animosity had been revealed. How Austria had arrived fashionably late after everyone else, if flustered and disorganized, and how the aristocrat had immediately jogged—yes, _jogged_—over to Switzerland in the corner. The Austrian had been out of breath, asking if the blond man had heard _"that harebrained radiocast"_ yet. At Switzerland's _"no"_ the musician had nearly slumped over in relief, hands on his knees as he caught his breath, practically _begging_ the Swiss to ignore it.

Which, of course, only made the others in the room curious. The nearest radio had been commandeered to tune in to a live broadcast being reported on of the Chancellor delving in to some nasty allegations. Needless to say, Switzerland hadn't been amused. Austria had been close to mortified, pinching the bridge of his nose and keeping his head down in clear distaste.

After months of similar incidents, the Swiss could only take so much acrimony before lashing out at the Austrian nation. Austria hadn't tried to defend his boss in the slightest, but when the arguments turned personal, well . . .

That turned into _this._

And France knew—the _only_ other person to know—just what the Swiss meant to the other man. _Really_ meant. Oh, how he knew.

Now, they were being forced to split. Both politically, and personally. The Frenchman could tell what was going to come of it. Of what he was going to experience while in Venice with his friend.

France stood and grabbed his plate and mug, taking a long, much needed drink as he headed back to the kitchen; wishing it were alcohol.

Roderich was going to be _devastated._

**...xXx...**

Leaning up against the faded stone, Francis let the sharp breeze coming off the water ruffle his hair. Normally, he would care about his carefully crafted locks getting messed up, but to compensate for the hot summer day he had tied his blond hair back off his neck, leaving only a few strands to frame his face. The sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled up to the elbows, and he wore light yellow capris and sandals. Something easy to survive in while walking around under the sun for hours on end.

The blond turned to his right, resting his hip against the railing of the Rialto bridge, as he looked to his dear companion.

Meeting up with Roderich had went _well._ For the most part.

They had met up in front of St. Mark's Basilica, per usual. Francis would be lying if he said he hadn't been nervous about it. He'd just about dug his fingertips straight through his palms on the entire flight over. Before he'd left his home for the airport, he had received a phone call from Germany, of all people, that didn't do anything to assuage his concerns.

The German had called to warn him about the news, if he hadn't already heard about the signing, and to try to implore him to, _"Be patient with him."_

Francis had rolled his eyes at that. _Please._ Germany had _no_ idea the viper pit he was about to get on a flight to. _He_ even had no idea about what was awaiting him. If the Austrian would even show up for the trip at all, if he would be malicious the whole time, or snapping and yelling, or stay completely silent, or start crying. _Mon dieu,_ if the man started crying—

Francis knew his own heart would be ruined.

He'd been so caught up in all these worries during his boarding, flight, collecting his luggage, checking in to the hotel, and walk to the square, that the sudden tap on his shoulder nearly had him fainting on the steps of the church.

"Don't fall over, you oaf."

Francis clapped a hand over his heart as he spun around to see Roderich standing behind him.

The man looked . . . _fine._ He looked normal, if dressed down from his antique attire. Well, this _was_ a holiday trip.

The Austrian wore a baby blue button up shirt, his sleeves only rolled up a little past the cuff, and ivory capris and loafers. His dark, chestnut-colored hair was slightly gelled, styled in its usual slick coif, and his pair of spectacles were replaced with round, grey-tinted sunglasses. The aristocrat had his hands on his hips, head tilted as he looked up at the taller Frenchman.

It was then that Francis made the decision not to bring up anything about Switzerland or the break-up. Anything at all. He would wait.

He realized the man was staring at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah, I didn't think you would sneak up on me like that," Francis said, brushing off his jumpiness.

"I called your name," Roderich said, looking unamused as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Several times. I hope you're not becoming deaf."

"Non, non!" the Frenchman lilted, waving his hand flippantly. "My head was caught in the clouds."

_No need to have him guess my thoughts._

Francis quickly slipped into his cool-and-aloof-big-brother persona and stepped towards his friend, embracing him. "Bienvenue à Venise!" he quipped happily. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise." Roderich returned his hug and went along with his _Faire la bise_ quite graciously, lips light against his cheeks. The man shifted his glasses and squinted up at the sun, then to his watch. "It's nearly noon. Do you want to walk the Basilica, or find lunch first?"

They decided to walk through the cathedral, since both had eaten heavy breakfasts, and Francis was glad for it.

_At first._

Francis had originally expected his friend to be his handsome, dignified self. Well, he was _always_ handsome. Handsome enough to make the Frenchman's mouth water whenever he let his thoughts run away from him—and this was definitely _not_ the occasion to delve down that road.

So, since the Austrian was looking his on-brand attractive, Francis thought for sure things would proceed as normal for awhile. To catch up with him about frivolous things; like the newest fashion from Milan or the latest plays touring local theatres, new recipes they've tried or reprisals of old recipes they've thought up. For the Austrian to mention the same facts from certain paintings and statues they'd walked passed a hundred times, and pointing out the newer wear and tear on the older architecture that would lead them into reminiscing about their histories.

_Precisely like every year._

Instead, Roderich was uncharacteristically quiet as they entered the church. It was midday, and the chapel and subsequent square were a hotspot for crowds of tourists. As they'd stepped out of the bright sunlight and into the shade of the church, a cloud appeared to settle over the aristocrat.

By then, at any other time, he would have been talking about the new spider web of cracks in the golden paint above them. The smoother textures on the bronze sculptures that weren't there the year before. The lighter colors of the wooden seats on the pews from wear. Never pointing out these things as flaws; instead as acknowledgements of the passing of time. Something that, for them, would often go overlooked.

The man stayed silent. Roderich removed his sunglasses and hooked them on the front of his shirt. It would have been nice to revel in the sight of those unshielded amethyst eyes, Francis thought, if he couldn't pick out the sheen of anxiety just beyond his stare. Even though lavender eyes were bare to the world, he'd never seen them more guarded.

The silence between them wasn't so much noteworthy as it was unnerving.

The Austrian gazed at the tables of votive candles for a minute, violet irises flicking over each individual light that waved at him. Francis could see the seams beginning to loosen. The lines at the corner of his eyes were more pronounced, brittle. Strands of chocolate hair fell loose as the man shook his head and looked away.

As Roderich continued their circuit around the inside of the Basilica, Francis paused by the stand. He spent a few moments there solemnly, head bowed, and then he lit a candle.

After they had finished tracing the cathedral with their feet and eyes, with only a few moments of conversation between them—mostly started by the Frenchman—the two men made their way towards the grand Rialto Bridge. They would start their loop along the canal there, heading back along the river until they reached a café, maybe browse a few shops, and then head to their hotel.

That's where they currently were. Standing against the stone railing of the central portico, the two men peaceably took in the sounds and smells of the crisscrossing crowds, rolling waters, and fresh food.

Francis ignored all of that in favor of watching the man beside him.

The aristocrat had placed his sunglasses back on his nose after they'd left the church, and was casually leaning both hands on the railing as he looked out at the sprawling city on either side of the water. From the open side of his spectacles the blond could see that Roderich's eyes were becoming glossy the longer he gazed out over the water. Two fingers on his right hand aimlessly tapped the old stone railing.

The Frenchman felt his heart go out to him. He knew that the man must be a molten mess on the inside, barely able to keep his emotions from bursting out from under his skin.

Francis tensed and glanced around them at the hundreds of people passing to and fro. The harsh sunlight practically put them under a spotlight at the edge of the bridge. There was _no way_ he could let his friend have a breakdown in front of all these strangers.

An idea began to form in the forefront of his mind and Francis placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, attempting what hopefully looked like a gracious smile.

"Let's cancel tonight, oui?" he offered. At first he was worried the man didn't hear him over the crowd, but Roderich whipped around to look at him so fast it nearly made his own head spin.

Grey-concealed violet eyes were wide and hardened like stone. "What?"

Francis leaned an arm around the brunet's shoulders gently, as if trying to corral a wild animal, and slowly turned them to face back the way they came. "I was only thinking that, _perhaps,_ we could go back to the hotel and drink the night away." He wouldn't bring up the elephant. Not directly. "That sounds better than touring markets and museums you've seen a hundred times, non?"

Roderich stared at him for a moment, his gaze a bit unfocused while he thought out his suggestion. Francis could feel his stomach bubbling with uneasiness, unsure if his friend would take the bait. He _hoped_ he would.

The Austrian took a shaky breath and murmured a soft, _"Please."_

His shallow breathing grew faster, and it was then that the blond could truly see just how close to falling apart his friend was. _There it is._

"Come on, mon ami," Francis said, exhaling his malaise. He began to guide them back across the bridge. "Let's fill you with some wine."

**...xXx...**

After much time spent in companionable misery, drinking bottle after bottle of various, _rather fine,_ wines and rums, Roderich retired for the evening. The gentleman didn't say much of anything over the course of the sun falling its way into the horizon.

The Frenchman wouldn't hesitate to press any of his fellow entities about the wayward ways of the heart, prodding for scraps of confessions and teasing until red bloomed across sputtering faces; yet he did nothing of the sort that night. He kept the alcohol flowing like the Seine and his shoulder open. Roderich heavily indulged in the former, not so much the latter. At least, not openly.

The Austrian sank into a lush somnolence upon the lounge. They spoke about nothing when they did speak and when silence reigned it held the weight of that which was left unsaid.

Francis wanted to weep, and only held back out of courtesy for his friend.

He had some guesses as to what thoughts were running through the aristocrat's brain. Most likely ran along the similar edge of, _"Not again." _

The on-and-off relationship of Austria and Switzerland had been a running joke the past several centuries among the other nations. Ever since Roderich rose up within the Holy Roman Empire and Switzerland forcefully broke out from under its crushing power, the two were torn. Torn between remaining as close as brothers as they always had been, and slitting each others' throats in the night. Or day. Whenever it was most convenient, really.

Ever since tensions had settled, though, the two rather got along again. Not quite as close as they used to be, but it was _something. _Something that the other nations could palpably sense—or, well, _he_ could. Francis prided himself on his ability to read other people.

Then Austria's new Chancellor was instituted and . . . _this happened._

Oceanic blue eyes watched his companion very carefully throughout the night. He kept himself to only two glasses of wine, despite the exquisite taste. Roderich had no such reservations and eagerly drank enough for them both. Well, enough for the whole hotel, at this point. _Mon dieu, I envy his tolerance!_

Shortly after midnight, Roderich finally seemed tired of drowning himself in spirits. Refilling his glass had gradually slowed and pale lips parted more frequently.

"I regret that we didn't walk around a little more," the Austrian murmured, barely a slur to his tongue. The slim man was stretched out on one of the lounges in their shared suite common room; a foot on the floor, and hand tipping his wine while slender fingers ran over the lip of the glass absently. "I detest feeling like we came out here for nothing."

"It's not nothing," Francis said. He sat primly in an armchair, knees crossed, leaning on one of the arms with his own wine glass. The blond perked up at the sudden conversation. "You couldn't have accounted for this."

Roderich stared up at the marble ceiling, mouth pressed into a firm line. His glasses were discarded on the coffee table, revealing his turbulent eyes. His chest rose and fell with a long sigh. "I hope Feliciano doesn't see me like this. What a hassle that would be."

"Oh? You think so?"

"I'm hardly in the mood for comforting anyone else." Violet eyes glared and the Frenchman swore he saw the cherubic filigree flee in terror. "As you well know."

"No need to worry about me, petite souris," Francis said, waving his hand. "I'm perfectly used to handling heartbreak."

It was only when Roderich whimpered that the Frenchman realized what he'd said. He sat up straighter, worried that the other would fall into a silent funk again. Or worse, _cry. _He really hoped that wasn't the case.

_Oh, Dieu, s'il vous plait . . !_

"Unfortunately, so am I," the Austrian whispered, his entire demeanor softening. "I wish—" His smooth voice, deepened by the thickness in his throat, paused.

Francis waited, but he didn't continue his wish. At least, not aloud.

Roderich sat up then with a groan, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. He downed the last of his glass in one go and stood. "The rest of the bottles are yours, Francis," he said as he stepped around the lounge, a slight wobble to his steps. Even though he said as much, Francis saw him snag a full bottle of rum off the table as he went. "It's not working for me any longer."

With that, the Austrian left him in favor of his bedroom and closed the door.

Francis slumped in his chair.

**...xXx...**

After giving Italy a quiet, _very quiet, _phone call, Francis settled into bed. The bearded man slipped out of his touristy clothes until he was completely bare and crawled under the covers.

He wasn't tired as much as he was exhausted. Emotionally so, of course. The mood between him and Roderich had been so melancholic and heavy, as if they'd been visiting inside of some catacombs instead of a luxurious auberge. Now that they were in their separate rooms, that heaviness seemed to lift slightly from his consciousness, if not his heart.

Francis grabbed the book he'd brought with him off the bedside table, desperate for any sort of distraction from his friend's gloomy predicament. He threw down the comforter, the thick blanket very much unneeded in the summer heat, and slid beneath cool sheets. Adjusting pillows and stretching out, he went about reading his book under yellow lamplight.

A romance.

_Damn,_ he'd forgotten. It seemed he couldn't escape the woes of the heart.

Time ticked by as the Frenchman forced himself to unwind, eventually able to return to the world of the naïve heroine who fell hell over bells for a wounded soldier. The young woman was spirited, braving the horrors of war and circumstance as she hid the man in her attic from the occupying enemy.

_Dieu,_ he hoped it had a happy ending, as more often than not reality wasn't as kind.

The clock from the other bedside table ticked and tocked, providing a steady beat for his mind to wander over words with. The small lamp to his left was just barely bright enough to light his pages, even as he leaned closer on his elbow.

The Frenchman didn't hear the muffled footsteps in the outside suite. He didn't even hear the low _thush _as his door drifted open over the carpet. Nor the similar sound following its closing again. No, it wasn't until a soft, sonorous voice spoke that he came crashing back to Earth.

"Fuck me."

Francis dropped his book.

Roderich stood at the end of his bed in nothing but his baby blue dress shirt that only reached his upper thighs. He was sans his glasses, his sharp amethyst eyes were heavy-lidded and sensual, scantily lit by the weak lamplight.

Francis gaped, at a loss for what to do. What to say. What to _anything!_

Never in his life had he thought that the Austrian man would _ever_ say such a thing to him. In fact, he knew he would never say those words to him. The elegant man had made it very, _very_ clear throughout all of the years that they'd known each other that he would never let their relationship hit that point.

Roderich began to unbutton his shirt as his lithe legs carried him forward with a slow, licentious sway. Francis swallowed as he watched as more and more of the gentleman's smooth chest was being laid bare before him. Thin fingers stopped over the last button, keeping it clasped and leaving _barely_ anything to the Frenchman's hedonic imagination.

Then those fingers slid loose the final button.

With that visceral shock to his groin and his brain the latter swiftly took over and Francis rushed to turn off the lamp. He slid further underneath the sheets and pulled them above his head, going as still as a statue.

"I-I'm going to sleep!" The Frenchman wasn't proud of the squeak in his voice.

A hand fell upon his leg. His heart kicked up a storm like a bull at a rodeo as his words went unheeded; that hand trailing from his ankle to his inner thigh, fingertips brushing along the cotton covered dip of his naval where leg met torso.

_Oh, Dieu! _

That hand moved across his waist and pressed upon the mattress. His stomach sank along with the bed as he felt the other climb on top of him. Francis's mind was short circuiting as the man sat directly in his lap, thighs on either side of his hips squeezing him, and an intense heat met his own. Only a volley of curses and helpless prayer occupied the remnants of his brain.

The Frenchman inhaled sharply as the man leaned over him, resting his arms on his chest, and the blond reluctantly peeked over the lip of the sheets.

_Merde_—a sexy panther was lying on him!

Roderich laid overtop the sheets, and _him, _his shirt having fell forward up his back to reveal a creamy arch of skin in the moonlight from the window. Chocolate hair was tousled to perfectly frame his rosy cheeks, a pink tongue dipping out to lick soft-looking lips. Violaceous eyes practically glowed with lust.

"Fuck," Francis breathed.

"Ja," Roderich followed. His fingers curled in the sheet, tugging it further down his chest. Then he slid his arms upwards and cupped the blond's agape face. _"Me." _

Lips devoured lips, like a shark to bait, greedy and wild. Roderich chased Francis as he tried to escape by sinking through the bed, to no avail. _Oh, they are soft!_ Those slender hands held him firm, the brunet moaning against him when he gasped, taking the opportunity to seek out his tongue.

The trapped butterflies in his stomach fluttered and swarmed, fighting their way up through his chest until they caressed the outer chassis of his ribcage. The sparrow of his heart nearly burst through the bone prison in order to eat them all up, beak nipping through the gaps in his resolve to snare its fair share of unwarranted feelings. Every stroke in his mouth shook free more kaleidoscopes of fluttering from his belly, and, no matter how desperately he wanted to, Francis couldn't net them all.

The scent of alcohol, particularly rum, was so strong in the air between them and on the Austrian's palete that Francis felt himself getting lightheaded from the contact. _Yes, _he was absolutely going to blame that and _not_ the way that the other man had started to roll his hips.

Every ounce of self-restraint he'd ever had in life was being spent on this moment. A miniscule amount, to be sure. Above all, he was thankful for the thin, _much too thin,_ sheet separating them.

Francis squeaked again as Roderich impatiently rutted his hips on him, moving his hands to rip down the sheets as quickly as he could. The bearded man scrambled to grab the man's waist, urging him to stop his _glorious_ teasing, but the touch seemed to have the opposite effect as Roderich groaned and shivered—and _oh, _he was so going to Hell for even indulging _this _much in the other's drunken debauchery.

But he couldn't let this continue.

"Stop, stop, _stop,_ cher!" Francis gasped as he pushed the other away, clambering backwards until his back hit the headboard. He clutched at the sheets to try and cover himself, more out of fear of further arousal than modesty, but the infernal cotton was trapped under the Austrian's knees.

"Why?" The passionate man clung to him, tilting his chin up so he could kiss the blond again. Arms wrapped around his neck held him in place as the Austrian stole kiss after kiss. "I want you."

Roderich crawled up the bed and situated himself directly in the bearded man's lap like before, and this time they were completely skin to skin. Francis about combusted on the spot as that round, perfect—_oh so perfect_—ass sat tenaciously upon his traitorous cock, which was _more_ than happy to oblige the situation.

_Fuck. Oh no, no, no!_

"No, you don't! It's not me that you want!" Francis panted against the man's provocative mouth and pushed the Austrian away at arms length. He swiftly pulled a pillow between them.

_"Francis!"_ Roderich snapped, showing something other than agonizing fervor _at last._ His face contorted with carnal frustration as he knelt over him. "How long have you been trying to get me into bed?!"

"H-Have I?" Francis asked, voice pitched high in feigned innocence and panic, clutching the pillow to his chest.

Roderich's searing eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb." Francis felt that heavy gaze weigh upon him even more as the man huffed, "If you won't do it, then I'll just go hire a whore off the street. I'm worth at least that much."

Blue eyes widened. "Roderich . . ."

The Austrian whimpered then and his face fell, reddened lips pouting and eyes dampening with a different kind of heat. Francis' heart sank at the blatant anguish that bled from the other.

Francis couldn't bring himself to resist as Roderich slowly grabbed the pillow from him, drawing it away and setting it to the side. The dark-haired man leaned forward against his chest, arms circling his neck once more, and he ducked his head into the crook of his shoulder.

_"Please,_ darling, bitte. I'll be good, _so good,"_ Roderich pleaded quietly, lightly kissing up under the Frenchman's jaw as he did so. Francis ran his hands up the other's lean back, sliding beneath his dress shirt as he embraced the man flush to his chest. The Austrian nibbled against his neck as he trembled, his melodic voice coarsening, "You know I can be good. Bitte, _bitte. _Let me have you." Roderich moaned softly and rocked his hips once more, slow, _rough;_ Francis felt his restraint waning at the burning drag over his sensitive flesh.

The begging man whispered lewd things into his ear then, teeth finding his earlobe, slipping into the blond's native accent. Which was _incredibly _unfair.

_"Baise moi s'il te plait."_ Roderich's tongue traced the outer shell of his ear, rolling his hips forward insistently._ "Je veux sentir ta bite en moi, me remplir. Je ferai en sorte que vous jouissiez encore et encore pendant que je criais votre nom."_

He'd be a liar if he didn't admit that every syllable went straight to his aching cock. He turned his head to capture Roderich's lips, if only to get him to cease his salacious words.

Francis needed to stop this. Needed to push the man away and make him realize just _whom _he was propositioning. The brunet may have said his name, but the Frenchman knew that he wasn't the one the aristocrat was yearning for in his heart. He never would be.

Of _course_ he wanted the Austrian. _Mon dieu, _he'd dreamt about fantasies such as this all too frequently—lounging around in bed and having Roderich walk towards him in various states of undress, climbing on him, riding him as his voice hoarsened from pleasure. Those thoughts usually wiggled their way into his consciousness whenever he was bored, or furious with a certain _someone._ The gentleman was as erotic as he was uptight, as loose as he was untouchable.

Now Francis was being allowed to touch. Being begged to, even. Yet he couldn't. _He wouldn't._

He'd rather jump off a bridge than betray his friend during such a vulnerable time.

"Come on," Francis said when Roderich gasped for breath. He felt a twinge of pride at the other's dazed look, patting himself on the back for his own distracting skills.

The light-haired man scooted away from the headboard and rolled them over, pressing the lanky man into the mattress. He supported his weight on his arms and ignored how impeccably his hips fit between the other's legs.

"You're drunk, Roderich," he continued, forcing the arousal out of his voice. The Austrian blinked wet eyes, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Francis spoke. "You drank too much and aren't thinking clearly." Francis balanced on his elbows and reached out to cup the man's bewildered face in his palms. "Take a moment to breathe, and look around. You're not in your room."

Roderich stared at him. The man's breath caught up to him as his disoriented self tried to sort out what was happening. Francis kept speaking gently, urging him to come to his senses before things got even more out of hand. The last thing he wanted was for either of them to cross that final line.

Delicate hands slid from Francis' neck up into his hair. Mauve eyes scoured his face, becoming more and more glossy as a spark of clarity appeared in their depths. Roderich threaded fair strands through his fingers as he sucked in a shaky breath.

"It's the wrong shade."

Francis could acutely feel the man's heart crack open beneath him. Tears prickled him as Roderich's expression twisted and broke, streams of tears pouring from the corners of his eyes as he tried to hold back.

The Frenchman immediately embraced him, rolling onto his side so he didn't add to the crushing weight that was falling upon his friend. Roderich shook and tugged on his hair, choking out, "It's too light, _t__oo light."_

Francis held him closer.

Ultimately, a sob tore through Roderich as he shattered in the night.

_"It's not gold."_

**...xXx...**

Many years had passed since the last time Francis had stayed awake until dawn. His various escapades usually came to a close in the dark of the evening, and neither him nor his partners were ones to refuse a cuddly post-coitus sleep.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten to watch the sunrise. Not that he particularly paid much mind to this one, either—at least, not directly.

Attentive, cerulean eyes watched the morning glow rise across the wall of the bedroom. Lighter pinks and oranges splashed over the wallpaper, upholstery, the pillows. A stripe of fuschia highlighted chestnut-colored hair.

Roderich had fallen asleep.

Breathing out a soft sound, Francis rubbed the other man's back absently. His own back faced the window, which left him with a clear view of the gentleman in the growing sunlight that peeked over his shoulder. He'd covered the man with the sheet at some point during the night, laying on it and using the comforter for himself. An unfortunate precaution.

After the Austrian had broken open in his arms, however, nothing of the sort had been pushed. The brunet only cried. He cried and _cried_ as the Frenchman held him through it, rocking lightly as the man wailed with heartache. He'd murmured soothingly to the other, ignorant of whether or not his friend heard him at all through the pain.

Every so often a coherent sentence from Roderich would make itself clear, bubbled into his arms with agony. The one that struck him the most as being so, _so _unfairly true still haunted him at daybreak.

_"Why does everyone leave me?"_

Francis wept with him.

The buzz of desire had faded from him as he comforted the other. It had been unwanted, anyways, but inevitable. He'd never thought that Roderich would ever have propositioned him the way that he did—and he never _wanted_ him like that. Never wanted him to drunkenly beg for a romp while he was mourning the loss of his true loved one.

Francis felt ill at the way he'd been guilted and then snapped at for not complying. He knew that the Austrian wasn't in an aware mindset, but that didn't make it right and it didn't make the sunken feeling in his stomach any lighter.

The bearded man understood, and it couldn't go unaddressed.

Smoothing his fingertips up and down the other's cotton covered back, the Frenchman hoped the affectionate touch helped to keep his companion's dreams from terrorizing him. So far, it appeared to be working.

Roderich was curled snugly against his front, head under his chin with his cheek laying on his arm. The brunet's handsome face was worn; the usually hidden crow's feet were more pronounced and the redness beneath his eyes made him look much older. Thin lips were bitten raw during his multiple attempts to stifle his sobs, only hurting him more in the process.

As the bedroom lightened and his friend continued to breathe evenly, Francis found himself dozing. The night's exhaustion finally caught up with him, though it was an uneasy sleep with him often waking to check to make sure everything was quiet and still.

Hours passed. The two men slept in reprieve. Francis woke again sometime around noon or so, he assumed, when the Austrian in his arms began to wriggle.

Roderich rumbled in his throat, rolling from lying against the Frenchman's chest and onto his back. Francis still kept him close, but allowed the man to move within the confines of his arms as he blinked away his own sleepiness. He did his best to ignore the swell of anxiety in his chest as dark, amethyst eyes opened.

The Austrian stared at the ceiling, blinking sleepily. Those irises were muddied, desolate. They flicked to the side and met troubled blue.

The two observed one other.

Roderich held his gaze as he slowly rolled back onto his side, facing the yellow-haired man. He lifted a hand and placed it on Francis' chest, gently stroking the hair there.

"Did we . . ?" The rasp in Roderich's throat was disheartening.

"No."

Roderich slumped. Those stormy eyes closed as he sighed. "Thank you."

Francis could feel the man's relief as he pet along the other's waist. He held him firmly, grounding himself for his next words.

"I didn't know you could be both so sexy, yet so cruel," the blond said softly, half-heartedly. _Wholeheartedly._

Roderich looked up at him. His eyebrows knitted and the lines around his eyes hardened, his expression horrid. "Francis—"

But the bearded man cut him off. "You tried to make me do a horrible thing, Roderich." The Frenchman kept eye contact; gaze tender, but serious. "And then you tried to make it my fault."

"I'm sorry." Roderich couldn't meet his eyes any longer, mashing his face into the arm pillowed beneath his cheek. A few beats passed before his shoulders shook. "I'm _so_ sorry—" The brunet's discordant voice caught in his throat, his shoulders shuddering with a half-choked moan, and Francis was loathe to see more tears sliding down the beautiful gentleman's cheek.

The Frenchman opened his mouth to halt the flow before it erupted, but was stopped by the Austrian suddenly rolling over. The man sat up, sheet sliding down to his hip. Roderich leaned heavily on his elbow as he covered up his mouth, unable to face him as his manic breathing claimed his ability to speak.

"I-I can't—_fuck._ I'm sorry. I'm so disgusting." Roderich's voice cut off in a high pitched whine as he continued to push himself up, keeping his face turned away. "I'll leave."

Francis bolted upright and reached out to him. He embraced him around the middle and squeezed tight. This isn't what he wanted, for the man to retreat into a lonely pit of gloom. _Please don't run. _The blond pressed his cheek to the other's temple and said as much in his own tongue.

They spent a few hushed moments together. Roderich's breathing calmed and so did Francis' heart. The gentleman patted the arms around his waist and spoke up once more, voice no longer on the verge of breaking.

"How fitting," Roderich said, "that I'm crying my eyes out to you, of all people." The man exhaled and massaged his forehead. "I've even gotten a headache."

Francis hummed and pulled away, giving the gentleman room to turn around. The Austrian rubbed his eyes and attempted to straighten his mussed hair. The bearded man grabbed the fretting hand and kissed the knuckles, appeasing the other's distress.

Once Roderich settled down, the room's atmosphere grew comfortable between the two of them, akin to their usual rapport.

"I'm not angry, okay?" Francis assured. "You can talk to me, petite souris." Those slender fingers he held wove through his own. "I won't make you, if you don't want to. We can lay down and sleep all day, if you wish."

"I'm sorry," Roderich stated again, violet eyes rising to meet blue.

_"Do_ you want to talk about it? The, ah, break up?" Francis ventured.

The Austrian dropped his gaze. "I haven't had any time to process what happened. The last few days have been nonstop paperwork and signings and press releases . . ." His words trailed off.

Roderich's face tightened and he fell forward, leaning his head against the Frenchman's chest.

_"Francis."_ His name sounded like thorns ripping through the other's throat. "Mein Bär, mein Freund . . . It _hurts. _Make it stop."

"I wish I could." Francis hated feeling helpless as the grown man and country broke apart in his arms.

Roderich scoffed. "You're the nation of love. If anyone could, it'd be you."

_Right. _Francis wanted to lighten the mood and comfort his friend all in one. _I must be strong._

_"Ah!"_ He surprised the man with a great hug, swaying back and forth. "Mon ami, I would happily trade my love woes with yours, if only so you'll stop crying! Mon _dieu,_ my heart can't take it!"

Roderich yelped as the blond dragged him down to flop onto the mattress.

"I would weep a new ocean into existence, if only so you didn't have to!" Francis crooned. "Though, I don't think petite Feli would appreciate me sinking Venice after all this time."

"F-Fra—!" Roderich pressed against his chest and tried to squirm free, but he held him tight.

"Non, non, I'm going to hold you until tomorrow, and the next day, even. We'll read poetry, watch romantique films, and gorge ourselves on chocolat et patisseries until our bellies burst." Francis aggressively nuzzled into hazel-colored hair like an affectionate hound, his tone softening. "I'll even give you as many kisses as you want. _Only_ kisses, though. You'll have to foot the dinner bill if you want the rest of me."

Roderich puffed a small chuckle, breath hitting the Frenchman's collarbone. The sound smoldered his heart and he knew he was grinning like a satisfied fool.

"I cannot believe, after all of this, that you're still attracted to me," Roderich said. "That you can even joke about . . . what happened."

Francis rolled his eyes, pulling back to give the Austrian a _look. _"Of course I am. Do you even look at yourself in the mirror? And seeing you like _that_ last night, writhing and _moaning,"_ he groaned and placed a hand on his forehead, melodramatically fainting atop his pillow. "A lesser man would have just fucked you, mon cher."

"A lesser man, huh." Roderich snorted a laugh despite the red flush on his cheeks. _"Dummer Bär."_

"On a tougher note." The bearded man sighed, peeking from under his hand. Lavender eyes watched him warily as that hand lifted, wandered over, and poked the shocked Austrian in the nose. "Don't do that again, okay? You should know that I'm no one's rebound man. _I'm _worth more than that."

Roderich stared at him. He nodded slowly, strands of dark hair falling in front of his raw gaze. "I know, Francis." He laid a hand on the Frenchman's stubbled cheek. "For what it's worth, I _am_ sorry for doing such an awful thing to you. You don't deserve it."

"Non, I didn't," Francis pouted. The lip quiver didn't last long as he decided to tease his friend a little more, hoping it would help them both return to shaky normalcy. "At least I stole a few kisses of my own."

The brunet chuckled again while the Frenchman waggled his eyebrows. His hand slid down Francis' jaw and into his hair, fiddling with the flaxen strands. The Austrian's expression was, indeed, sober, and yet he scooted closer until they were flush, chest to chest. He tilted up to nuzzle his cheek, pressing a small, tender kiss to Francis' lips before leaning back to look at him.

Roderich's gaze and voice, albeit rough, were sincere. "We _could, _if you want." Francis' heart leapt like a spooked toad as he realized the man was serious. "I'd like to make it up to you."

The dizzied Frenchman turned his face into his pillow to muffle his lamented cursing. "Oh, _merde._ The wine is still addling your brain!"

"Hey."

"You can make it up to me by saving your body and soul for your l'amour vrai," Francis said. He leaned his head on his hand and pinned the gentleman with an earnest look. "I doubt a particular Suisse would be happy to know that I'd been enjoying you in his absence."

The Austrian's brow furrowed. A gentle moment passed.

"Do you not know? Him and I," Roderich said, glancing away. "We—We've never . . ."

"Eh? _Vraiment?"_

"Really."

Francis gaped at him. "Now that _is_ surprising." He watched his friend sink deeper into the mattress and frowned. "No wonder you're so strung up, souris. I would have bet my bosom that you two have been shagging since the last millennia."

"Ha." Roderich shook his head. "Keep your bosom."

"It _is _exquisite," Francis said, patting his fuzzy chest proudly.

The blond smiled as the Austrian let another laugh slip. He was happy to see that his friend was still able to banter, still able to laugh at himself and with others.

After all, the latter was everything. He knew it would be a long time before he was truly able to disguise himself under his natural walls of aristocratic nonchalance. In the meantime, he would make sure that the Austrian bore such an unfortunate hardship until then.

_He's going to be okay, _Francis thought. _He'll endure._

"I knew you loved him, Roderich," the Frenchman confided gently. "I just didn't know how hopeless it was." He paused, then said with all his heart, "I'm here for you, should you need me."

Roderich stayed silent. His fingertips traced murals across the blond's bicep, light breaths stirring the warm, summer air between them. When he spoke at last, his silvery voice was weak, insistent.

_"Love."_

"Aye, mon ami." Francis kissed ochre hair. "Love."

**...xXx...**

**_Murmures de Monde_ \- Whispers of the World (obviously made up newspaper) **

**_Mon dieu_ \- My God**

**_Non, non!_ \- No, no!**

**_Bienvenue à Venise!_ \- Welcome to Venice!**

**_Faire la bise_ \- French greeting, kisses on each cheek**

**_Oui?_ \- Yes?**

**_Mon ami_ \- My friend**

**_Mon/petite souris_ \- My/little mouse (a cute nickname France calls Austria in my fics)**

**_S'il vous plait_ \- Please**

**_Auberge_ \- hotel/inn**

**_Merde_ \- Shit**

**_Ja_ \- Yes**

**_Cher_ \- Dear**

**_Bitte_ \- Please**

**_Baise moi s'il te plait. Je veux sentir ta bite en moi, me remplir. Je ferai en sorte que vous jouissiez encore et encore pendant que je criais votre nom._ \- Fuck me, please. I want to feel your cock inside me, filling me up. I'll make sure you cum again and again as I scream your name.**

**_Mein Bär_ \- My bear (a cute nickname Austria calls France in my fics.**

**_Mein Freund_ \- My friend**

**_Romantique films_ \- Romantic movies**

**_Chocolat et patisseries_ \- Chocolate and pastries**

**_Dummer Bär_ \- Dumb bear**

**_L'amour vrai_ \- True love**

**_Suisse_ \- Swiss**

**_Vraiment_ \- Really**

**x**

**Ahh, what's a few kisses between friends? Hope you all enjoyed this rollercoaster!**


End file.
